


Scent of Smoke

by Zoadgo



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Campfires, Clarke pov, F/M, This is fluff, thinking thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1669625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke loves the fires in the camp. She stays at her small, respectful one, but the larger bonfire draws her in. All it takes is one invitation and she spends an evening with the main group, becoming part of the chaos. Through the flames and the easy company of those around her, she finds peace and answers to questions she didn't know she had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scent of Smoke

The campfires are Clarke’s favourite thing about Earth. Back on the Ark she had thought it would be the trees, or the plants, or the rivers. When she had seen the glowing butterflies she had thought they were the most beautiful thing on Earth. But all that beauty had faded. The trees were practical, the plants were poisonous or helpful, the rivers were full of giant snakes, the butterflies were hell to get out of your hair when they got too friendly. But the fires had been practical when they were first lit, and later their beauty grown had on her. 

During the day, the fires dwindle to small flames and coal beds that are used for boiling water on occasion, and mostly only kept alive so they don’t have to relight them at night. But as the darkness grows, so do the fires. They eat and dance and belch smoke into the skies. Everyone gathers around them, forming groups or joining the main bonfire. Jokes are thrown around, people laugh, people eat. At the smaller ones, people cry to heal the hurts that no one can see.

Usually Clarke stands with Octavia, Jasper, or Monty. They have their own little campfire, low key compared to the roaring beast of the main fire. Sometimes Finn or Raven joins them, but not on the same night since they broke up a few weeks ago. Other people pass through their little group when they want to thank Clarke for fixing some ailment they had or giving them advice, but they usually drift back to the main fire.

Her eyes are drawn to it with her thoughts. Bellamy and Miller are laughing as they throw more wood onto it, feeding it back up in the growing twilight. Clarke feels an ache growing in her chest. Over the last few nights, she’s felt drawn to the main fire more and more. She’s intrigued by the restrained chaos, the energy, the passion it contains.

And she’s intrigued by the man who leads it all, not that she would ever let him know that. Bellamy has been weighing heavily on her thoughts lately. They had started as enemies, no question about it. But then they had begun to lead together, she had helped him get pardoned and kept him from running away. He had helped her reconcile with her mother, and yet she would hesitate to call him a friend. He still has a habit of getting under her skin, making her angry with a simple word.

“Princess.” For a second Clarke’s heartbeat picks up and she wonders if she was speaking out loud, but Bellamy continues, “You really should join us peasants one night, you know. You might like it.”

“I doubt it.” She scoffs, “And don’t call me Princess.”

“Stop being a princess, and I will.”

Clarke feels her temper flare, but she wills it under control before gritting out, “Fine.” and walking over to his side. She feels a rush of satisfaction as his eyes widen slightly, but he controls his expression quickly.

“Well, whaddaya know. I should warn you, we probably don’t have anything fancy enough for your high class tastes.” Of course that wouldn’t stop the teasing.

“Yes, because I’m somehow getting the best cut of meat when you’re the one who’s hunting it.” That gets a chuckle out of Bellamy, and Clarke decides that however annoying Bellamy may be when he’s in a good mood, she likes seeing him laugh far more than seeing him cry.

“Who knows, maybe you’re working some feminine magic on me and my boys.” Clarke lets out a particularly unladylike snort at that.

“Ah yes, feminine magic. Forgot about that one. Because you’re going to be oh so susceptible to little old me, given your track record.” 

“You might be surprised.” Bellamy’s mumble is so quiet that Clarke’s pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to hear it. But the slight blush that immediately tints her cheeks pink makes sure that she can’t even pretend she didn’t hear it. Thankfully, Miller calls Bellamy over at that moment to get his help in spitting the boar they’d caught earlier to roast over the fire.

Clarke shakes her head to clear the thoughts whirling inside, but eventually gives in and tries to sort things out while feeding the fire. It actually seems to give her some guidance to her thoughts, specifically those revolving around a certain cocky leader. In the weaving and flickering of the flame, Clarke begins to see patterns. Some behaviours only last for a second, but they’re brighter and draw the eye more than the base of the flame, where the coal bed roars a gently fluctuating red-white heat. She looks up from the flame to Bellamy, who is so confident when everyone’s watching but can fall apart so easily when he’s alone.

Except for maybe he doesn’t fall apart when he’s alone. Clarke can only say for sure that he sometimes falls apart with her. But other times he is strong, and he can be volatile. But when they’re together, away from the camp, there’s something far truer about his actions. 

Bellamy looks up and catches Clarke’s gaze on him, but she doesn’t drop her eyes. She’s not a sheepish schoolgirl with a crush. She’s a leader trying to understand her partner in leadership. Bellamy holds her gaze for a while longer, not breaking it to reply to something Miller says. She expects mocking or a cocky grin, but he almost seems to know that she’s judging him with her glance. And he’s willing to lay himself out before her, to let her see the darkest parts of him.

Clarke drops her gaze back to the growing fire, allowing the boys to continue the task of roasting dinner. She doesn’t pursue any thoughts in particular, merely allows them to flicker across her mind. Tonight, she’ll be part of the chaos. There’s no point in trying to analyse anything until after the fact, or she won’t understand it at all. She needs the experience in order to draw conclusions.

The sun finally gives up its battle with the night sky right when the board seems to be finished. Everyone gathers in their groups, Jasper looking highly confused when Clarke shakes her head in response to his beckoning her. The crowd quickly separates her from her previous group and draws her into the world of the bonfire. Laughter and shouts are barely audible over the roar of the flames, which makes it oddly intimate. You can only hear what the people directly next to you are saying, even though you can see everyone talking.

Clarke talks with the boy next to her, one of the guards. She laughs as he tells her about the time he was on guard duty and heard something in the bushes, freaked out, only to discover it was a rabbit moments later when it hopped into the open. She encourages him to talk more, realizing that she doesn’t actually have amusing stories to tell. Her time on Earth hasn’t been so kind.

“Enjoying yourself, pri- Clarke?” Bellamy steps closer to her, earning himself a dirty look from the guard she’d been talking with. It doesn’t escape her notice that he catches himself before calling her 'princess'.

“Actually, yes!” She throws him a smile as she turns, the guard grumbling something and turning to the girls on the other side of him. Clarke doesn’t even know his name, so she’s not quite sure what his problem is.

“A genuine smile. I feel blessed.” Bellamy smirks as he says that, but it seems to Clarke like he’s forcing it, trying to make it seems like he’s joking when there’s actually some other reason behind the words he’s saying.

“Hey, I smile, sometimes.” She protests, the smile tinting her words with joy and taking away any seriousness that there might have been in her reply.

“Sure you do. But it’s always sad, or just because nothing has gone wrong. This,” He brushes his thumb at the corner of her mouth quickly, causing Clarke’s heart to jump more than she would like to admit, “seems to be because things are actually going right for a change.”

“Well, things certainly are going well, I can’t argue with you on that one. It would be better if I had remembered to grab my coat, I’m dreading the walk back to my tent when I have to leave this nice, warm fire.” She really is. The cold air nipping at the back of her neck is a promise of how cruel the air will be the second she turns away.

“You could always share my tent, it’s closer.” Bellamy says with such a ridiculously overblown wink that Clarke has no choice but to laugh. He smiles for a moment before joining her in laughter, and Clarke forgets everything that’s gone wrong since they touched down on Earth. In this moment, with the roar of the flames and Bellamy’s laughter in her ears, Clarke feels… Warm. That’s the only way to describe it. Just warm.

Bellamy talks with her for the rest of the evening. Unlike with the guard, they don’t shy away from serious topics. They talk about how their dreams of Earth fell short of its beauty and its cruelty. They remember the fallen, those who fell victim to the whims of fate. They discuss every hard won triumph. The conversation ends up being much more satisfying, even if she doesn’t laugh as much. Sharing her burdens and memories with Bellamy is easy, and it makes her feel lighter, somehow. More free.

People trickle away from the fire, in ones and twos or in groups that share the larger tents. Couples seek the relative privacy of shadows, and soon there’s only the fire-watchers who will remain through the night, the guards who are waiting for their shift to start, and the leaders. 

Bellamy and Clarke stand silent as the raucous gathering subsides, their presence unnoticed amongst the few people who remain. Everyone is staring at the fire, caught up in its spell. They all stand, hands half outstretched even though they’re not really cold, staring into the flames. They seek answers, or peace, or some combination of the two. Clarke finds both in the flames, and stores them away deep within her. She stores this moment with the memories of her first breath of Earth air, her father’s good-natured yelling at a game that had been played over a hundred year ago, her mother holding her, her first decision that the camp respected, the sound of Bellamy’s laugh… The memories that she keeps to fall back on when all else is grim, when it seems like there’s no hope.

But even in the peace of the fire, a part of Clarke’s mind is practical. It nags at her, telling her that she needs to go to sleep now if she wants to be rested tomorrow. She puts it off as long as she can before giving in with a sigh.

“Night, Bell.” She glances briefly at him as she turns away from the fire, unconsciously using the nickname she’s heard from Octavia. The fire hardens his features into a stern statue in one second before shifting and softening his sharp bone structure to the softest curves and child-like innocence. She wonders if the fire is showing her Bellamy as he truly is.

She shakes her head to clear it of the image and begins the trek into the clod air and back to her tent. But just as she reaches the edge of the fire’s influence, she feels something warm drape around her shoulders. 

“Night.” And Bellamy walks past her without further comment, his arms bare to the night air now that his jacket is wrapped around Clarke. She stares after him for a moment before giving up on trying to understand him.

Clarke slips her arms into sleeves too big for her, cuffs dangling at her fingertips. She feels the warmth of the fire and the warmth of Bellamy’s body woven into the fabric as she snuggles into it. It stays with her as she walks back to her tent, keeping her body warm and her spirits high. She forgets to remove the jacket before she curls up in her bed, telling herself she’ll return in first thing tomorrow. Clarke falls asleep with her face buried in the shoulder of Bellamy’s jacket, breathing in the scent of smoke and clinging to the memory of him next to her.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is super fluffy. I think this is the fluffiest fluff I'll ever Fluff. I hope you guys enjoyed it <3 As always, thanks to the flawless [coldsaturn](http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com) for editing it!! Feel free to talk to me [on tumblr!](http://randommaces.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thanks for viewing/commenting/leaving kudos, you're all lovely <3


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